Page 18 of Road Refugees

Chapter Six

Townshend

“So, when all was said and done, Crybaby started crying over all the broken models.”

“Models?” I didn’t get it. I was in a biker bar talking to a guy named Fred Birdseye about a memorable rumble they’d had, joining their chapter in Flagstaff and what seemed to be Crybaby’s chapter in Pure and Easy. They’d accosted some thugs who’d ripped them off on a drug deal. They, the Bare Bones, had followed the skid marks into a toy store. That’s when the fur really flew, according to Birdseye.

“Yeah. Airplane models, you know? Some dealer took a hit and went flying backward into a display of airplane models, totally crushing them to smithereens.”

“And Crybaby cried? Over that?”

“Yeah,” said Birdseye. “Apparently he’s a big model plane fan.”

“Hang on,” I said. “I’m going to check on my ride.”

I already sounded like a biker. Why not? I had a Harley Road Glide, and my Dingo boots could pass for engineer boots. I’d spoken earlier on the phone to Crybaby. He welcomed me with the expected brothers in open arms, and told me to check in to the Drawing Board to get some relief and meet his brothers in arms.

Off-leash, Linus followed me to the door. He was still acting silly once in awhile. Losing concentration, teasing me with toys in his mouth instead of retrieving them to me. But I was in love with his dorky smile, and he was devoted to me. You’re a little bit defective, aren’t you? Well, so am I.

However, when I pushed the swinging door out, I bopped a woman in the nose. I saw her through the sooty circular window.

“Ow! My nose!” she cried.

I apologized profoundly, but I couldn’t get the image of her angelic face out of my mind. She had that impish, upturned nose I’d always fallen for in women. I could see that if her long, tawny hair was down, it would flow around her heavy breasts, a mountain stream tunneling around immense canyon walls. I knew if she smiled it would light up the perfect, exotic features of her Cleopatra face. And she had a dog, a Great Dane, his giant triangular ears flapping as he walked.

Linus sat at my feet, barking once. Then twice. Maybe he wanted to meet the Dane.

My smashing the door on her would’ve been the perfect intro, only some blonde chick popped out of nowhere, yelling, “Heaven! Come on!”

Her name was Heaven? Nothing could’ve been a better set-up, but the sweetbutt, as biker women were known, dragged Heaven and her dog away. I was left staring at her stupendous ass like some kind of shitbird.

Fred Birdseye hadn’t seen the women so couldn’t ID them. By the time I went back out front, she was gone.

Back at the Drawing Board., I couldn’t stop talking about her.

“Maybe I’m starved for some fender fluff,” I raved, “but that woman just now would do the job utterly. She was an outstanding piece of work.”

“Listen,” said Birdseye, “you sure you don’t want a fucking beer?”

“Nah, I’m good. I told you. I quit drinking a month ago and I’m good. I’m just on the road to find my inner self.”

“How ‘bout weed?” said a guy a couple stools down, name of Dayton Navarro. “If you’re a friend of Crybaby he’s gonna be sorely disappointed if I don’t turn you onto this Magic Bus sativa blend.”

I had smoked weed a few times since giving up the drink, so I agreed to go into a side alley with Navarro. He had a tiny little glass water pipe in the inner pocket of his cut. Amazing the things they could manufacture these days. In Syria we had to make do with a metal hookah.

“You should’ve seen her, buddy,” I ranted. “Long, long, and I mean long caramel hair, hair you just know smells like lavender soap.”

“Wow, you’re really smitten, pal. She must be a gash from our rivals, the Friends of Distinction. How long since you been laid?”

Though it was none of his fucking business, I had to think about that one. I breathed the aromatic smoke in and out through my nostrils. I believed I’d drunkenly fucked some chick who’d followed me home from the liquor store. That was probably it. Since drinking heavily, it’d been cleaner than Doris Day’s greatest hits, sex-wise. I would never make a pass at a fellow soldier in arms, and some women like Eloise did come to my condo. Some shitbirds did that. Not me.

“Awhile,” I croaked, exhaling more of the delicious herb. Linus sat obediently, cocking his head this way and that, ducking to avoid smoke. “Maybe I’ll join Crybaby up at that weed farm. I’ve always wanted to be a farmer, work with my hands.”

“Magic mushrooms are where it’s at,” wheezed Navarro. “Everyone’s got their fingers in the weed till nowadays, but psilocybin’s hard to find.”

“Fungi?” I screwed up my face. “Sounds kind of…dangerous.”

Navarro became animated. “Oh, it’s awesome! You do feel kind of terrified, but also elated.”